Incarnate
by Misty H
Summary: Bella died in the meadow the day she met Laurent alone. Over a century later, Edward is still reeling from her death--until he meets a strange girl with an achingly familiar scent.


**Incarnate**

**Prologue**

The meadow was nothing like the way she remembered it. The flowers were gone, the tall grass bent and broken in decay. The sun was clearly on extended holiday—she hadn't witnessed its presence for weeks. Today was no different.

Tree leaves whistled and whispered around her, above her. The humidity of the place was oppressive. Perhaps that's why she found it so comforting? The weather here was one thing she could count on for consistency. She was powerless in the face of nature, just as she was powerless now. As always, she was torn between hysteria and calm acceptance, knowing that she was only human, knowing that she could do nothing to combat the weather, to combat her fate.

Bella Swan inhaled and exhaled, wondering just how many more breaths she would take before she died. Fifty? Fifteen? They were certainly numbered now, and dwindling fast, especially as the blood-red eyes of her hunter darkened to black. 'Bloodlust,' a velvety voice murmured in her mind. 'Please, Bella, please. Run away. Get out of here. Don't you know I can't live without you?'

'You've done well enough these last few months,' her mental voice cried. 'Damn it, Edward, where are you?'

The hunter circled closer, his nostrils flaring in response to her scent, the warmth of her blood, her pulsing, panicky heart. Bella knew, even as she pivoted to keep him in her line of sight, that the hunt was over. Her body quivered with the effects of a useless adrenaline rush—she would never be fast enough, strong enough, clever enough to outwit and outrun her opponent.

'Edward, I need you!' she shrieked, and then it was too late.

Her fragile body slammed into the ground with the force of a freight train colliding with a particularly stubborn mountain. She heard more than felt her ribs splinter under the force of impact, her spinal cord snapping under immense pressure from above. She had a brief moment to think 'I can't feel my legs' before pain banished all thought.

He feasted upon her, tearing into her throat like an animal. She smelled the blood—'My blood'—in the air, felt the agonizing burn in her throat. It didn't last long. Her vision was already darkening, spots obscuring the green of the leaves above her broken body. From a great distance she heard a whooshing noise, almost like a howl, but her mind was too tired to focus on such details.

He suckled once more, pulling her blood from her body with excruciating suction, and she felt her body spasm in response. Her eyelids slowly descended, and as her body lay limp on the ground she managed one last thought.

'Edward, I love you.'

**Chapter One**

If he could dream, he would dream of her. Of this Edward Cullen had no doubt. He would dream of her hand, the curls wrapped around his fingers and ensnaring his hands. He would dream of her eyes, the dark chocolate melting as she smiled up at him. Her lips would curve just so, with the left corner of her mouth slightly higher than the right, and her cheeks would flush the pale pink of a bouquet of carnations.

Oh, if he could dream. He knew that his perfect memory would conjure the appropriate sensations in his subconscious, and he would again feel her body pressed to his, her soft curves yielding against his granite flesh. He would smell her unmistakable scent—freesia—and his lips would caress her forehead, her jaw, behind her ear, down to her throat, resting on the pulsing temptation of her blood. He would hear her gasp, followed by a quick, breathy moan as she exhaled. Her fingers would tighten around him, her arms trying vainly to lock him in place as she clutched at his shirt, his hair, his shoulders.

Maybe for once, just in his dreams, he would give into temptation and show her just how much he wanted her, not just as a monster, but as a man.

But Edward Cullen couldn't dream.

Sighing, he climbed the nearest tree, settling himself in the branches to await the arrival of some unsuspecting prey. His search in Brazil was fruitless—he knew that now—and he would be returning to the States within the next few days. He had already planned to reconnect with his family in New York. Perhaps, he mused, Carlisle would have some idea of where to find Victoria. Alice would also be a good resource.

He was beginning to realize just how much he depended on his family. This attempt at tracking, if nothing else, had taught him that he was not capable of surviving alone. He needed the talents and comforts of those who loved him in order to succeed. His feeble attempts at finding and destroying Victoria were just proved to himself his continued inadequacies.

With the aid of his family, however, there was a good chance that he could exterminate Victoria. Her death would secure Bella's peace and safety. That, Edward vowed, he would provide for her. She would live a normal, happy and very much human life, and she would never have to fear creatures such as himself again. He would make sure of it.

Sharp onyx eyes picked up the shadow of another being entering the brush beneath his feet. Edward tensed, sniffing cautiously, and began to drool. The scent was absolutely mouthwatering. It had truly been too long since his last hunt. His ears picked up the padded footfalls of another predator, and he grinned in delight. He loved hunting felines.

He pounced.

A vicious snarling broke out from the tree cover, accompanied by shrieks and more than one thud as bodies collided with neighboring trees and boulders. Within a few minutes, the fight was over, and Edward drank deeply from the throat of his prey.

Perhaps it was, in fact, a good thing that Edward could not dream. Even as he finished his meal, licking the blood from his lips, another vampire in the northern hemisphere was doing the same. Given Edward's feelings for that other vampire's victim, it was quite possible that, should Edward dream of Bella that night, his dream would quickly become his nightmare.

*

Mary had never been a particularly careful girl. Her father was constantly bemoaning his fate as the sire of the world's most reckless human. Though, in her defense, it wasn't entirely her fault. For some reason her brain just wasn't wired the same way as most people. She honestly just didn't see danger where others saw life-ending doom-and-destruction. The best explanation she could give was that she was an eternal optimist. She knew that such a simple explanation didn't truly explain her oversights of obvious peril, but there was no other way she could account for it. She just knew that there was nothing really worth fearing, and that those things that most people feared often had the tendency to turn out just fine.

Of course, she wasn't thinking that now.

Her father's hoarse scream cut through the loud music pounding through the garage. Mary's head snapped up from underneath the car hood, the wrench in her fingers dropping uselessly against the engine of a beat-up station wagon. Her fingers left streaks of oil and grease across her overalls as she wiped them against the faded denim, her feet already taking slow steps toward the door. A second scream had her running.

The screen door banged shut behind her as she skidded into the house, her eyes frantic. "Papa!" she cried, moving past the living room and towards the kitchen. "Papa, what's wrong?"

She rounded the corner into the kitchen in time to see her father slide to the ground. His body rested against the far wall of the room, and a long streak of blood marred the cheery yellow paint. Even as she watched, his eyes faded and his chest stopped moving. "Oh, God, PAPA!"

She hadn't taken two steps towards the fallen figure of her father when something clamped around her waist. Immediately, she screamed. A hand covered her mouth, and she bit as hard as she could.

Her teeth shattered in her mouth, blood filling the small cavity. She shrieked again, the nerves in her mouth screaming against the pain of exposure. But her cry went unheard as she began choking on the blood and bone sliding down her throat.

"Ah, look, it's two-for-one today. How quaint," a female voice whispered in her ear. She caught a brief glimpse of blonde hair, pale skin and crimson eyes before her attacker snapped her neck. There was no pain, only a sharp 'crack' and then Mary's vision and hearing faded to nothing.

*

Jacob Black stood before the headstone, hands buried in his pockets. His dark eyes traced familiar words, and as usual, they brought him no comfort.

'Isabella Marie Swan

September 13, 1987 – March 2006

Loving, compassionate, consoling

May you find your peace'

Jacob alone carried the burden of knowledge that there would never be peace for Isabella Swan. She had died alone, in physical, mental and emotional anguish. He and his brothers had been too late to save her nine years ago, and they had not saved her since. He had not saved her.

Anger welled within him, an old friend, but just like the gravestone before him, it brought him no comfort. There was no one to be angry at anymore. They had shredded Bella's murderer and torched him until not even ashes remained. They had hunted the red-haired vampire until she had disappeared altogether—rumor had it that a coven of vampires back East had settled their score with her. The Cullen family had been gone for over ten years, and Jacob was confident he'd never set eyes on Edward Cullen again. 'Though if I could…' he growled internally, hands clenching and unclenching.

The sound of a baby's cry rent the air, and Jacob glanced over his shoulder reflexively. His wife sat in the car, rocking their fifteen-month-old child in his car seat. A hand rested on her swelling abdomen as she hummed to the fussy toddler. Jacob allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk in a smile before turning back to the grave before him.

It was over for him. He knew that. It had been nine years since he last saw a vampire, and he had a family to think of now. He was ready to let his wolf go. He knew for Bella, however, that it was long from over. She would never be at peace until she recovered what Edward Cullen had stolen from her so long ago—her heart.

His right hand pulled away from his pocket, tracing the last five letters of her name one last time. "Bella," he whispered, his tone both mournful and reverent. "It's too late for me to save you, but you already knew that." He paused, considering. "Bella, I cannot save you anymore, but my wolf is not bound by my limitations. He will watch over you. My family will watch over you until one day, you are free."

He turned away, stumbling slightly in his grief—how could it still feel so raw?—before he caught sight of his wife's concerned face. Once again he smiled at her, feeling his love for her grow. She had been so patient with him, far more so than he deserved. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at the gray stone marking the corpse of his first love.

"Find your peace, Bella."

Then Jacob Black moved on.

*

It had been twenty years since Edward had last seen her face. He often wondered what she looked like now—she was 38 years old today, he knew. Did she have laugh lines, wrinkles? Did she have a crease in her forehead where she frowned in frustration? Was it too early for her to have a few gray hairs? Perhaps her children had put them there. Perhaps her husband—but Edward didn't like thinking about that.

Still, as he and Alice sat in the dark listening to Bella's lullaby, he couldn't help but wonder if she was happy, if she was loved, if she loved. Alice had stopped seeing Bella's future after they left Forks in September of 2005 and now she was unable to see a single thing about the girl who had captured both their hearts, no matter how hard she tried. He was left even more in the dark than usual concerning Isabella Swan, and he wondered if it was perhaps better this way.

"You could go check on her."

"I know."

"You won't."

"No."

There was a silence as the music rose to a crescendo then slowly floated back down to earth. Alice reached over and gently touched the back of his hand. He rolled it, palm facing up, and she took that for the invitation it was, grasping his hand tightly.

"I could go check on her."

"I know."

"You won't let me."

"No."

Dawn lightened the sky. They watched together until Esme's light footfalls could be heard outside the door. Their mother cracked open the panel of wood, face unusually somber as she said, "Time for school."

Together the siblings rose, still clasping hands as they turned to face their companion.

"We know," they whispered together, and a new day began, just as it had for the last twenty years.

*

She was known as Dizzy Izzy to her classmates, and her family had a way of letting the nickname slip whenever she did something frightfully klutzy. Since she could crawl she had managed to bump, bruise, cut, stub, burn, scratch, break, strain, puncture, pull and otherwise injure herself in every fashion imaginable. She had no comprehension of spatial relativities, including hand, eye, foot, mouth, leg or toe coordination. For the first years of her life, doctors at the local ER thought her family was physically abusive, and social workers checked on the family at least twice a month. It was found, however, that she just really was that clumsy, and even the padding on the walls and floor of her bedroom couldn't stop her from breaking her leg when she tripped over air.

Izzy felt like she lived her life inside of an institution—the padded rooms in the house did that to a person—yet she wasn't overly resentful of it. She knew she was hopelessly uncoordinated and that her parents were only trying to limit the extent of her injuries. Not that anyone would ever be able to tell if they succeeded; after all, Izzy still managed to wind up in the hospital at least once every six weeks.

Today was going to be another one of those days, she realized when she pulled into the school parking lot. All the kids from her class were already outside in their gym clothes, stretching and shoving one another around.

"Track day," she groaned. "How could I forget?"

Then again, how could she not forget? She was good at blocking unpleasant things from her mind, and the annual 'Let's Take Bets on How Many Ways Izzy Could Die Today' –a-thon definitely qualified as 'unpleasant.'

"Hey, it's Dizzy Izzy!" one boy shouted, and Izzy couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, now the party can really start!" she called back, laughing at his mock-horrified expression. Or maybe he wasn't faking. After all, she had been known to drag other unsuspecting victims to the ER with her…

Suited up, she joined the line of teenagers streaming towards the far side of campus where the track and the necessary field were situated. A frown creased her forehead when she realized she was walking next to a stranger. 'Odd, I thought I knew everyone.'

"Do I know you?" she asked. With the exception of her massive klutz attacks, her friendly personality was her most famous trait.

The boy shook his head, brown hair falling into his face, which was already partially obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses. His hand was remarkably pale as he reached up and, with a graceful flick of his wrist, settled his hair back where it belonged. There was something disturbing about his features, Izzy decided. They were too…nice.

"I'm Nathan," the boy replied to her continued staring. "New."

"Ah, well I'm Izzy, and if you need anything, just let me know!" she responded cheerfully. Inside, however, she still felt unsettled. She brushed it off as the coach called for runners to take their positions for the mile run. She groaned internally.

"Mark. Set. Go!"

She allowed the others to get a head start before starting her own slow jog around the outskirts of the track. If she stayed far enough away from everyone, maybe she would be the only one in the hospital this afternoon.

On her second lap around the track, just as she neared the edge of the woods, she stumbled. 'Here it comes,' she thought wryly and was rewarded with a sharp snap in her left leg. She fell to the ground with a muttered curse and looked to survey the damage. The bone was poking through the skin, and she winced as she watched blood seep from the wound. Luckily, frequent injury made her pain tolerance high, and she was able to keep her cool long enough to check to see if anyone was coming her way.

Most of the students as well as the coaches were gathered on the other side of the field, but she could make out Nathan running in her direction. "Nathan!" she hollered, clutching her injured leg. "Help me!"

She blinked and he was there beside her, touching her leg, scooping her up bridal style before sprinting again. "How did you move so fast?" she stuttered, feeling slightly nauseous at the combination of speed and pain. His response was to drop her to the ground.

"Ow! Why'd you do that? Where are we? Nathan, I need to get to the hospital!" she shrieked. Her eyes shone with fury and pain with the slightest tinge of panic.

"Don't worry, Izzy," she heard her classmate purr as he appeared between her legs. "I'm going to take good care of you. And you are going to give me exactly what I need, just as you offered."

She didn't even manage to draw in a breath before he cut off her air supply, forcing her to the ground. She watched, horrified and struggling, as he licked the blood from her wound. "Izzy, you taste so good," he moaned, and if she could have, she would have whimpered. Her other leg swung up, hitting her attacker in the head, but he didn't even flinch at the impact. Her fists flailed against him as he moved up her leg to her inner thigh, and she began to cry silently.

Her struggles ceased as carbon dioxide built in her bloodstream. The last thing she felt was a stinging pain in her left thigh. It built to a fiery crescendo before her heart gave out and she surrendered to death.

*

'Fifty-seven years, Edward. Are you going to see her or not?'

The impatient, irate and yet affectionate voice of Rosalie weaved through his thoughts. He didn't bother to turn from his post on the roof of Forks' hospital, instead observing the nursing home before him. Bella was now seventy-five years old, and she was not listed in the telephone directory. He wondered if she was here, in this institution before him, or if she had moved elsewhere after high school, now residing in an unknown location. Was she frail? Did she feel pain as her body aged and betrayed her? What kinds of medication did she have to take, or was she still perfectly healthy and spry? Did she have grandchildren? Would they have her smile? Her laugh? Her curls?

He missed her more each day, although in the beginning he would have sworn such a thing to be impossible. The ache in his chest had not diminished over time, instead only growing sharper as the decades passed. The pain was more acute than ever, which is why now, fifty-seven years after leaving his love alone in the woods, he was back in Forks. He wasn't doing much to actively seek her out—he still had some control, thank God—but he was still here, invading her hometown, hoping for a glimpse…

"Of course I'm not going to see her, Rose. I promised her she'd never see me again." And oh, how the wound in his chest seethed with those words! "I won't break that promise to her."

He sensed the disturbance of air as Rosalie sat beside him, joining his contemplation of the nursing home below. Spirals of steam drifted up from the building; it was January, and according to the Bella of yesteryear, it was frigid. Edward smiled in remembrance. She had hated the cold and yet had loved him, whose body temperature rivaled the Artic Circle in coolness.

"You know, I still think you're an idiot." Rosalie placed her chin on her knees.

"I picked up on that. You know, mind-reading and all," he snarked back.

"It was the stupidest thing you ever could have done, falling in love with a human. And I was proud when you left her—she didn't belong with us." She let out a huff of air in frustration or satisfaction, he couldn't tell. "Watching you these last decades, I've realized just how wrong I was. You gave up your only chance of being truly happy when you left her." Her topaz eyes darted sideways, examining his expression. "And you probably destroyed her happiness as well."

A hiss rose in his throat before he could stifle it, and she laughed at provoking a reaction out of typically stoic self. "Bella deserves the right to a safe, happy, healthy human life!" he snarled. "That's what I gave her when I left!"

"Edward…" his sister's voice was soft, hesitant and so unlike her. "How do you know that's what she got?"

His eyes were tortured as the suggestion struck home. "She had to, Rose. I kept her safe, I gave her up. She had to live, thrive. Otherwise, why did I leave?"

He disappeared abruptly from the rooftop, and she knew he was heading to the old Swan residence, seeking consolation in an empty bedroom and the trinkets he hid there. Rosalie tilted her head back, watching the clouds drift across the night sky and wondered, "Why indeed?"

*

She knew she had been a volunteer at a field hospital in Venezuela and that she wanted to be a nurse someday. She apparently had a saving-people complex. Her time in Venezuela was supposed to make her immune to the effects the smell of copper and iron had on her system. She had only been working for two weeks at the makeshift clinic when the war broke out. She had been in the country now for two months and it was not certain that she would ever be able to leave.

She knew all this because someone had told her. Another nurse who had worked with her before the bombing had filled her in on a few of the details of her life before the woman had succumbed to her own injuries. The only things that she knew on her own were that her name was Sable and she didn't like blood.

Sable crawled on the ground, assessing the wounds of the next patient. She held her breath as she lifted his dark hand away from his abdomen. Blood seeped from the large wound, and she could see the exposed and damaged walls of his intestines. Her nose burned from the smell of feces and partially digested material. She dropped his hand back over his wound, turned and shouted at her assistant.

"This one next! He's septic!"

On she went, taking breaths as often as she could. She had been doing this for so long now that she could hold her breath for four minutes at a time.

She really didn't like the smell of blood.

Sable had reached the casualties closest to the front line. Her eyes quickly assessed the obvious conditions of four individuals, and she scuttled towards the palest one. His skin was almost white in the hazy atmosphere, and he didn't appear to be breathing. Her fingers reached out, snatching the pale wrist as she inhaled.

She exhaled in an explosion of air as she found herself on the ground. Hovering over her was the soldier she had been assessing. Her mind snapped at her. 'Take control. Now!'

"It's alright. I'm a nurse. I'm just trying to see how badly you're injured so that I can help you. I'm not here to harm you. It's alright," she said in the best soothing voice she could manage. Her Spanish wasn't flawless, but she had been in this situation more than once and had been able to talk her attackers down. They were simply hyped up on adrenaline, pain and fear. She had always helped them in the end. This time would be no different; it couldn't be.

"Should have stayed away. I was doing so good, didn't you see? I was good, but you've come and ruined it," the man above her whispered, his breath ragged. She blinked at the sweet odor of his mouth and realized her hand was still clutched around his wrist. His icy, stone-like wrist. That betrayed no pulse.

"What?" she managed, startled, despairing even as he opened fathomless eyes and struck. The bones shielding her skull crumpled from the force of the blow as her head snapped to the side. Her fingers remained curled around her attacker's wrist as her blood poured down his throat, but, like her attacker, her heart was silent.

*

Edward loped up the grassy hill to the colonial-style brick house his family currently claimed as home. His eyes glinted butterscotch in the rising sun and the warmth of another's life filled his cold veins. This latest hunting expedition with Emmett had been exhilarating—three mountain lions in two days, peppered with the more docile flavor of small game. Edward grinned; he and his brother were well-fed.

He heard the roar of Emmett's Hummer pulling into the driveway as he took the last few steps up the porch and through the door that led into the family room. His mind registered the presence of Alice and Jasper sitting side-by-side on the couch and staring at Jasper's hand-held computer before he started jogging up the stairs two-by-two. He made it as far as the first landing when he realized something was terribly wrong.

With one jump he was back in the family room and striding towards his silent siblings. Alice glanced up, her beautiful features twisted in a look of pain—not an expression Edward was used to seeing on his cheerful sister. He started and froze.

He couldn't hear her thoughts. Jasper's mind was just as blank. Something had startled them so badly that they couldn't think.

"Oh, Edward!" Alice cried, launching herself from the couch and into her brother's arms. He caught her and held her to him tightly, still gazing at Jasper, trying to make sense of the situation.

'Poor Edward. Not Bella, not Bella. Poor Edward,' his sister's mind chanted, and finally he could hear again.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to pry the sobbing vampire from his body. "What's wrong? What about Bella?"

It was Jasper who answered. "Edward, Bella's dead."

Edward felt the air whoosh out of his lungs in one quick movement. His eyes closed and he moved one arm to pinch the bridge of his nose, cradling his sister with the other. He knew that she was dead, logically, but that didn't stem the grief bubbling through the crater in his chest.

"I know," he replied, voice almost smooth. There was only a slight hitch as he continued. "She would be one hundred and seventeen if she were alive. There's no way she's survived so long." His eyes narrowed as he took in the pinched expression on Jasper's face and the muffled sobs emanating from his sister's form. "Why are you telling me this?"

'He doesn't know, he doesn't know!' Alice shrieked internally.

"Know what?" Edward snapped, losing his patience and jerking away from his sibling. "What don't I know?"

"Edward," Jasper whispered, capturing his attention again. "I was going to do a search of the obituaries to find out her death date. I started with Forks, just to see if there were wedding announcements so I could figure out her last name. I…never got that far, Edward. Bella died…in 2006."

Twin screams of grief shattered glass as anguish suffocated first Edward, and through him, Jasper.

'Dead!'

*

The misshapen lump under her faded maternity dress kicked out again, causing the young woman to stumble. She caught herself against the rough bark of a conifer and shoved herself another few feet, her goal swiftly approaching. When the cabin came into sight, she sobbed with relief. Surely he would be here. Surely he could help her!

It took more energy than she had to crawl the last few yards and push against the cracked door where she had spent so much of her time over the last few months. She managed to roll her way inside and kick the door shut. It was quiet inside the two-room cabin for all of four seconds before she realized she was truly well and completely alone.

"O Gott im Himmel," she whispered in half a prayer, and then the screaming began.

It was only as she lay dying a few short hours later that she finally saw the face she now longed to forget. His chestnut hair glistened in the afternoon sunlight and his skin seemed to sparkle, almost as though he had millions of tiny diamonds imbedded in his marble skin. As he bent over her, inhaling the scent of blood and other bodily fluids pouring from her dismembered abdomen, she managed enough resolve to spit. Blood-spattered saliva spattered across one perfect, pale cheek, and his onyx eyes flickered to her face. She saw his smile before she felt the pain.

'At least I killed the monster,' her mind whispered, but that wasn't much comfort in hell.

*

Said monster currently resided in a pile of decayed leaves, having burrowed herself a nest after her mother's attempt to throw her out a window. She listened in horrified fascination at the pitiful whimpers of her mother and the sick, sucking sounds of the creature currently drinking from her body. The newborn knew, without any doubt, that she did not want that creature to find her.

She remained still and silent as the creature appeared out in the yard, apparently tracking her scent. Her small face wrinkled in fear and anger as the creature got closer to her hiding spot.

"Isabel. I know you're here, little Isabel. I've smelled your scent, dearest, and now I want to meet my perfect creation. Come out and meet your father, child," he crooned, standing directly above her now, but somehow not looking down.

If possible, she got even quieter.

Suddenly he kicked at the pile of leaves in frustration, his heel barely missing her small head. He growled, sniffing the air. "Incompetent woman! What mother throws her child out to be taken by wild dogs?"

She could feel the fury rolling off of his taunt body and fought the whimper rising in her throat. Survival instincts won over fear, and she remained silent as the tall man above her pivoted, rushing after a scent that only he could smell.

Hours passed before she dared move again, but it was only fierce hunger that drove her quivering body out of the leaves and into the yard. She remained on her back, sniffing furiously. Something smelled good, bitter and warm, and it was coming her way.

A housecat slunk onto the premises, apparently attracted by the scent of blood. Spying the small, messy lump on the ground, it ambled over. The child, now labeled Isabel, waited patiently. Soon the cat was upon her, beginning to lick dried blood off of her body.

She struck.

She hadn't known that blood could taste so good.


End file.
